


Light in Darkness

by Xela



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:19:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xela/pseuds/Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An interlude between Daemon and Lucivar, both pushed a little too far by the demands of their "Queens." </p>
<p>“They don't call him the Sadist for nothing.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light in Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> On the dark side. I played with some of the themes/images Anne Bishop used in the original novels; if you haven't read them, you might be a little lost.

Lucivar hisses and twists in Daemon's grasp, wings flaring for balance. The hand around his throat tightens, presses against his windpipe and Lucivar raises on his toes in reflex. Daemon molds himself to Lucivar's back, settles his body in the hollow between Lucivar's wings; the hard press of his Jewel digs in to Lucivar's spine.

The manicured hand tilts Lucivar's neck to one side, almost as an after thought.

“She won't like it if I'm bruised,” he manages to gasp. There's darkness in Daemon's laugh and the air around them chills. Lucivar hates the goosebumps that raise on his skin, and not only because the air's cold with Daemon's anger.

He feels the pulse of dark power and his shirt flutters to the floor, dust swirling around their feet. Daemon's skilled, taunting fingers trail over his chest. Lucivar gasps and arches when sharp nails dig into his nipples—whether towards, begging for more, or away, asking for less, Lucivar cannot say. 

He's never been able to distinguish the two with Daemon.

He feels his cock begin to lengthen, knows that Daemon can smell his arousal, and tries to twist away again. He's been down this path before, doesn't want this, what Daemon has to offer. All he has left to offer.

Daemon stops him with the full force of his Black, an invisible force pressed against him, holding him still.

“Stop,” he grits out, his pride preventing him from saying anything else. Daemon's warmth is gone from his back, but the Darkness is still there, pinning him in place for Daemon's epicure. Then the pressure against him _ripples_ and every inch of Lucivar's skin, every individual cell, exists only for pleasure. The sensation races along his nerve endings, stopping just short of being too much, too sensual. Every nerve twitches with arousal, and he's lost in a single moment of purely hedonistic ecstasy. He's gasping when it stops, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes, cock hard and leaking in his soft leather pants.

Lucivar catches his breath ages later and opens his eyes. Daemon is standing before him, looking bored and cleaning dirt from beneath his fingernails. Lucivar glares at him, waiting to be acknowledged; only a fool would assume Daemon's inattention.

“Daemon,” Lucivar growls when his patience expires.

“You asked me to stop,” he says, silky smooth. His eyes travel the length of Lucivar's golden body, stopping at the outline of the Eyrien's erection. He reaches out and traces it with idle fingers, savoring the feeling of golden eyes boring into him.

Lucivar stumbles as the pressure around him dissipates, suddenly free again. For a moment, he doesn't know what to do; Daemon's standing nonchalantly with his hands in his pockets, eyes glittering dangerously. Lucivar breaks for the door, but Daemon's already there, blocking his escape, forcing him back.

They clash, two Warlord Princes powerful enough to make the earth tremble. Darkness swirls about them; Lucivar can see the Twisted Kingdom reflected in Daemon's eyes and knows he'll lose this battle. He screams his defiance into the air, Daemon's body pinning him to the bed, wings splayed across dark silk. Threads of Black bind his arms above his head, secure him to the bed. Daemon's clever tongue sneaks into his mouth, swallows his protests, licks away the anger.

Lucivar has long since given up being embarrassed by the response his body has to Daemon; there are none in any Realm who can match Daemon's skill at arousing a body. But he will not submit; he's a Eyrien Warlord Prince. He wears the ebon-gray. He submits to none but himself.

Daemon's mouth closes around his nipple, teeth casually grazing against Lucivar's sensitive skin; but it's not casual, and Lucivar tenses because he knows Daemon does nothing without reason. He can feel the smug bastard's breath huff out in a silent chuckle. He strains against the binding power, knows it's futile but unable not to. He's not this person, trapped on his back with his wings beneath him. He's not this vulnerable, he's killed people for less, Queens and Princes alike.

And still his cock weeps for Daemon's attentions.

“Do you want me to stop?” Daemon asks.

Lucivar wants to say yes, wants to demand that Daemon let him go because he _doesn't_ want this—but he can't. He can't over come his pride, can't voice his defeat at Daemon's hands. He's a warrior, born in rage and blood and he won't speak, because he's caught right on the edge of begging and Daemon knows it. One word, and Lucivar will break under Daemon's hands, break where no bitch-Queen has made him break before.

His defiance amuses Daemon, who bends to taste the flavor of contempt and insolence on Lucivar's lips. Kisses of seduction as his body slip-slides along Lucivar's own, Lucivar's clothes disappearing with the whisper of a thought.

Lucivar hisses in pain when Daemon flicks the Ring of Obedience settled at the base of his cock, the echos of remembered agony mixing the sharp spike of new-pain, and there's nothing arousing in that except Daemon's mouth suctioned around his balls. Lucivar screams his anger out because Daemon has no right to turn the perversion of the Rings into something pleasurable. It's a betrayal Lucivar can't comprehend, and his mind rebells even as his body betrays him.

Daemon strings him between pleasure and pain, pushing him towards one high before sending him crashing into the other. Eventually Lucivar can't differentiate between the two, his skin slick with sweat, throat too raw to cry out anymore, body trembling with every touch of Daemon's hands. All he knows is what Daemon wants him to know: the slick warmth of Daemon's mouth, the sharp scritch of nails, the harsh scrape of teeth. White lights dance across his vision, the edges blurring as he's pushed inexorably where ever Daemon wants him to go.

Daemon wrings Lucivar's submission from him, makes him want it, makes him ache to Ring himself in service of another. He trembles on the edge, tries to resist but the end is always the same. Lucivar gives over to Daemon, bright lights blinding him, driving out the solace of the shadows and the strength of the darkness. All that's left is white, and Lucivar is drifting aimlessly in it.

By the time Lucivar comes back to himself, Daemon is gone, not even the faintest trace of Power left behind. There's no mark on Lucivar's body to show he was ever there. Only Lucivar, trembling in the aftermath, drifting in the sea of white with no one to guide him back.

_(They don't call him the Sadist for nothing.)_


End file.
